


(You) Drive Me Crazy

by misura



Category: Italian Job (2003)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Drunkenness, M/M, Oblivious, Pranks and Practical Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm very, very sorry, I'll never do it again, and I'll be happy to clean your favorite car with my toothbrush. Or your dirtiest one," Lyle added. "Whichever you prefer."</p>
            </blockquote>





	(You) Drive Me Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Rob/Lyle, Rob likes it when Lyle smarts off_ (ember_reads)

" 'Hey, there, little lady. Name's Rob. Handsome Rob.' "

" 'Ooh. You certainly are, you big, sexy animal, you.' "

" 'Grrr.' "

" 'Tee hee. Please don't eat me, Mr Handsome Rob.' "

" 'Well, I might. If you ask me very nicely.' "

" 'Tee hee.' "

" 'Grr.' "

" 'Oh, you. Can I - ' "

"Lyle? You're aware, aren't you, that your connection's still on, and that it goes both ways? Also, in case you weren't paying attention - which I'm guessing you weren't: mission accomplished. Grr."

"Tee hee?" Lyle said. What he'd actually have liked to say was something more along the lines of _'I was totally joking around, please don't kill me or drop my laptop out of the window or create an embarrassing profile for me on some dating website that says I look like a grown-up version of Justin Bieber and like to dance around in my living room naked while listening to his music'_.

Unfortunately, his brains seemed to be temporarily disconnected from his mouth.

 

Rob drove the car, because Rob always drove the car. Also, Lyle vaguely recalled, he'd once argued that he, Lyle, couldn't drive and type at the same time, so there.

"Are we going to talk about this?" he asked, with Rob safely parked in front of a red light.

"This?" Rob said, squinting at the traffic light. "What's this?"

"You," Lyle said. "Me. Us."

"We're pals, ain't we?" Rob smiled and waved at some woman in the car next to them.

Lyle supposed she looked okay, if you liked perfect skin, perfect hair and big boobs. "Yes?"

"Well, a pal can take a joke, can't he?" Rob said. "I mean, no need to get yer panties all in a bunch. A joke is a joke is a joke, get my drift?"

The woman waved back. Lyle hoped that bra in her hand had just been lying around in the glove compartment or something. Like a spare tire, or something.

"You're totally going to kill me."

"Relax, will you?" Rob said. "After all, where's the fun if you see it coming?"

"I'm very, very sorry, I'll never do it again, and I'll be happy to clean your favorite car with my toothbrush. Or your dirtiest one," Lyle added. "Whichever you prefer."

"You're gonna clean a car with your toothbrush?" The light turned green; Rob floored it. "No offense, pal, but that's kind of gross. I mean, your _toothbrush_? You gotta be joking me."

Lyle sighed and resigned himself to his doubtlessly gruesome fate. "Yeah. The big kidster, that's me."

 

For the next two days, nothing happened.

It was extremely nerve-wrecking, which was probably the idea.

The third day, they were supposed to be observing Charlie and Stella talk to some potential mark, and Lyle had argued, vehemently, that, really, he'd be much more useful at his laptop than out in the open, at which Charlie'd slapped his shoulder and said that, you know what, he was absolutely right.

"Good thing this place's got free Wi-Fi, ain't it?" Rob said, leaning back.

"It's not actually free," Lyle said. "And I'm not using it. Too risky."

Rob shrugged. "You're the expert."

"Yes, I am." Lyle wondered if that was Rob's roundabout way of saying he'd hold off on his revenge until after the job. It'd be the professional, mature, adult thing to do. Probably. "I'm the expert. I invented Napster."

"Yes, you did," Rob said, which reminded Lyle that, really, stupid handsomeness aside, Rob was an okay guy. He probably hadn't deserved Lyle making fun of him behind his back, even if nobody'd been around to hear it.

Stuff like that could hurt someone's feelings, and friends shouldn't hurt each other's feelings.

"Hey," Lyle said, feeling his throat get a little tight. "Rob. I just wanted to say - "

"Can you do Charlie?" Rob asked, leaning forwards, voice discretely lowered. "Huh?"

 

After that, it became kind of a thing. Their thing. Rob and Lyle's.

Technically, Lyle supposed that was good - crises averted, crash recovery successful, laptop safe from grimy hands and open windows.

And it _was_ good, really, to have Rob sitting next to him, or opposite him, laughing at his jokes, telling him he was 'a funny guy', and not in the way most people meant it when they called him that, where 'funny' was just another way of saying 'weird, geeky, nerdy'.

Lyle liked that. A lot.

So when Rob asked him out for a drink, he said yes, even though he knew the evening'd probably end with Rob taking some woman back to his hotel room and Lyle taking a cab - way of the world, and all that, and really, Lyle was OK with that.

No problemo. Rob was Handsome Rob, and Lyle was ... his friend.

Cool.

 

"Is this a - " Lyle said. His voice squeaked.

Rob looked mildly surprised. "It's a gay bar."

"Um," Lyle said.

"Don't worry - the beer's good, and the prices ain't too outrageous," Rob said.

"It's a gay bar."

"Problem?" Rob asked. "Just figured, you know - easier for two guys alone to get a drink without being interrupted in this kind of place."

He meant that women weren't going to hit on him here, which, yeah, maybe not.

On the other hand, Lyle knew _he_ was straight, and he'd still be perfectly happy to let Rob take him home and get him naked, so ... could be some of the lesbians'd be feeling the same way.

"Nope," Lyle said. "No problem. Bring it on, bitches."

"You're really friggin' weird sometimes, you know that?"

 

Two hours later, Lyle knew he was very drunk.

"One-hundred-and-ten love letters," Rob said. "I mean, I'm flattered - obviously. Still."

The lesbians were keeping their distance, which was good. Lyle had glared at a few of them when they'd come in; apparently, he'd intimidated them sufficiently to stay away.

"They don't know you," Lyle said, because he got it.

Getting an e-mail from a girl who thought you were teaching at Stanford and looked like Chris Evans just wasn't - well, yes, it _was_ , but that was just because Lyle was Lyle.

Rob wasn't Lyle.

"Not the real you," he added. "Not like _I_ know you."

"You're pissed, aren't you?" Rob said. "Completely sloshed."

 

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Lyle woke up in his own hotel room, though, and alone, so presumably, it had been a case of 'all ends well, that ends well'.

Charlie, Left Ear and Stella were watching something on his lap top when he made it to their work place, which was ... a little unusual.

Then again, he _was_ late. It was probably nothing to get upset about. No biggie.

Charlie looked up. Spotted him. Grinned.

"What?" Lyle asked.

 

Another day, another ride with Rob in the driver's seat.

"You really had me fooled, you know?" Lyle said. He sounded, he realized, bitter.

He _felt_ bitter.

"Did I, now?" Rob asked, smoothly taking a sharp left.

"I thought we were friends. That you actually _wanted_ to be my friend."

"Right," Rob said. "That. Well, what can I say?"

"Sorry?" Lyle suggested.

"I don't wanna be your friend, Lyle. Your pal," Rob said, which was no kind of apology, really. "Love to be your boyfriend, but seeing's how you get with a few drinks too many, don't think this friends thing's going to work out. I'm not a saint, you know."

If Lyle'd been the one driving, he figured this'd be about the moment when he'd crash the car. "You - ack! You put me on YouTube! Doing my Justin Bieber imitation!"

"It was good." Rob shrugged. "Besides, I still owed you one."

"Fine," Lyle said. "We're going on a date. Next weekend. Atlanta."

"That's quite some distance from here." Rob looked thoughtful. "Road trip?"

"It's one of my pet fantasies to go on a road trip with a big, sexy guy," Lyle said. "And a laptop."

Rob nodded slowly. "All right. I can do that. Just ... why Atlanta?"

"No reason," Lyle lied. He figured Saturday would be early enough to tell Rob about the concert tickets.


End file.
